Wrong Place
by mangochi
Summary: John's stressed out from doing paperwork all day, and Dorian helps him unwind a little.


**A/N: ahhh, yes, massages and smooches a happy John make.**  
**Pure man fluff here- dies-**

* * *

John jiggles the end of the stylus between his teeth, biting down on the plastic casing distractedly as he gazes down at his paperwork. The lines are starting to blur together after four hours of going at it, squiggly black words conspiring together to drip down the screen, and it's moments like this that he despaired of being a cop at all.

He throws the stylus down in disgust and stretches back in his chair, unfolding his shoulders from the habitual slouch he developed over the years with a pained grimace. The precinct's quiet that day, its usual bustle muted to a low background murmur, and John finds himself wishing absently for an emergency of some kind to screech in and shake things up, if only enough to get him away from this damn desk.

Dorian's wandered off somewhere uselessly, claiming the excuse of running his diagnostics or whatever it is that would get him out of helping with the paperwork this time, and John hasn't seen him in- he glances at his phone- something like twenty-five minutes.

Irresponsible bastard.

John pushes away from his desk with a heartfelt groan, standing on unsteady legs and cracking his spine in three places as he straightens. Dorian will probably have something to say about that, gently prodding fun at his age and asking if he needs to download a caretaker program to help John to the car. He doesn't seem to have any qualms when he's shoving John up against the walls of his apartment though, or bending him over the-

He hastily blockades his thought process there and goes to fetch a coffee from the break room, dreading the shitty taste but anticipating the feeble kick it'll give him. Hopefully enough to get through the next three piles, at least.

He knows it's Dorian as he turns the corner even before the android put out a hand and stops him from falling embarrassingly on his ass.

"Good morning, John." Dorian's smile is carefully calculated to annoy, but the wrinkle of synthetic skin around his eyes is all sincerity and sunshine. Two of John's least favorite things, but on Dorian….well, it looks all right.

"And where were _you_?" John snorts, swatting Dorian's hands away irritably and brushing past him. "There better be some coffee left-"

"I said _good morning_, John." Dorian's hand makes its way back to John's wrist, and John finds himself holding a steaming cup of perfectly heated beverage. "There. You're all good now."

John blinks down at the cup blankly, then up at Dorian. "You-"

Dorian grins at him without an ounce of self-consciousness, like some kind of overgrown puppy waiting for approval. "There was a line in the break room, and you were busy, so I…"

"Thanks." John huffs in wry amusement, hefting the cup. "You didn't have to."

"I know." Dorian's hand slides up John's arm nonchalantly, and John tenses, glancing around automatically. The corridor's empty for now, but anyone can show up and see them-

"Relax." Dorian squeezes his right shoulder, and John's mind stumbles humiliatingly at the way the android was looking at him. Face tilting down, eyes glancing up, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It's the way he looks whenever he's about to kiss John, and _this is not the place, damn it_.

"You can't," he blurts, before he knows what he's saying. "Not here."

"Can't what?" Dorian asks innocently. He puts his other hand on John's left shoulder. "Just giving you a massage, man. The other officers have their MXs do it all the time. Strong, capable hands, you know."

"You're-" John falters, his hand tightening on the coffee cup reflexively as Dorian inches in closer. "You're doing it wrong, dumbass," he says unthinkingly.

"Yeah?" Dorian murmurs. The smell of coffee is suddenly overwhelmingly strong as Dorian's thumb flicks the patch of skin above his collar. "I guess I should do it from behind, then. Get better leverage that way."

_Oh shit._John feels an inappropriately timed flush tingling beneath where Dorian is now casually palming the side of his neck. "Dorian," he flubbs weakly. "Really? You gonna do this here?"

"I think you want me to." Dorian rubs soothing circles against the base of his neck, brushing away the tension gathered there from hours of hunching forward over his work.

"That's..." he hisses involuntarily as Dorian digs suddenly into a knot. "That's awfully unprofessional...of you."

Dorian makes a sad noise, but his eyes are dancing. His hands stop, cupping John's face between his palms, and John stops breathing. It's never really been like this between them before, all...soft and careful. It's usually hard and fast, a way of relieving stress that has their bodies pressed together, breaths mixing in pants and gasps and groans that don't require words to convey emotion.

Dorian always looks at him the same way, though, before and afterwards, like he's starving for something and John's the oasis in the desert. He's looking now, standing in the corner of the precinct with his gaze locked on John's mouth. A streak of blue flickers across his temple, and John's briefly mesmerized by the play of light.

Then Dorian leans forward, pressing his lips to John's chin, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. A hint of tongue, flicking teasingly at the skin there, and John thinks he's going to go crazy.

"C'mere," he growls, and he reaches up clumsily with his free hand, pulling Dorian in by the front of his shirt. The kiss isn't as sharp or hungry as he's used to, but the intensity's all there, a steady burn rather than a roaring blaze. It's almost terrifying, how good it feels, and John fights the urge to drop his coffee and wrap his arms around Dorian's neck.

When he finally leans back, it's to gulp down long-needed air, and Dorian's wearing a smug grin that John wants to alternately punch and kiss off. He settles for scowling instead, stiffly raising his cup and taking a swig of the cooling liquid.

"Idiot," he mutters, turning away. He's definitely heating up now, and Dorian's endless fascination with how his ears turn red before his face has always made him want to crawl in a hole and preferably perish there.

"Mmm. You're welcome." Dorian catches the back of his jacket and presses one last kiss on the flushed skin just beneath his hairline. "Have fun doing paperwork."

Dorian's gone again before John can muster up the will to yell at him, but he's significantly less stressed when he settles down at his desk again. He'd have to make it up to his partner later, he thinks grudgingly, but somehow, he finds himself looking forward to it.


End file.
